


The Ghost That I Was

by masterwords



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Bombs, Field Dressing a wound, Hospitals, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective David Rossi, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:07:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterwords/pseuds/masterwords
Summary: “How is he?” she asked, watching them shut the door and begin driving off.  She just hoped that he didn't end up on the news.   Spencer shook his head and shrugged.“Seems okay, aside from the blood loss thing...just in shock.  He's going to have a lot of stitches.”“Like he needed more scars...” JJ muttered, her voice trailing off as she watched the flashing lights disappear into the distance.  Spencer shrugged again, his shoulders outlined sharp by the headlights of the police barricade.  It wasn’t that he felt indifferent, he was just...out of his element.  The blood didn’t worry him, it was what came next.  Hotch was dark, very dark, and he knew this was just the tip of the iceberg.  It made him feel distant, all he wanted to do was get away from it.  He couldn’t do anything to help.“I guess,” he said softly.  “I'm sure he's not thinking about that, though.  That's not very Hotch.  He's probably just mad that the bomb went off in the first place, before he could go storming in there to drag Billy out by his shirt collar.”
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/David Rossi
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	The Ghost That I Was

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to a lot of Black Lab while I wrote this, particularly “Wash It Away”. If you haven’t listened to them, they’re super late 90s/early 2000s alt rocky and so so beautiful. I watched them live, opening for Fuel in 1998 at a tiny little dive of a theater and it was breathtakingly beautiful. I was still a teenager then and I haven’t gotten over it to this day. Anyway! I’m rambling. I had one tiny image in my mind, it happens at the end of the story, but there had to be a lot of build up. I almost broke it into two pieces because it got so long, but what the hell, here you go all at once. It’s long. I hope you like it! If you ever have something you’d like to see me write, please always feel free to ask! I love writing for people. :)

Blood. That was surprising. He looked down, watched the droplets splash in tiny pools between the bits of gravel at his feet. Not quite sure where it was coming from, but there was a lot of it. It looked sticky, dripping between the chunks of rock and glass. One drop landed on the toe of his shoe. He wrinkled his nose, thinking of how he'd just shined them that morning. Would blood stain a leather shoe? Probably not, he supposed. From somewhere in the distance, he heard his name being called, it sounded frantic but quiet. Emily, he’d know her voice anywhere. It spoke to him, and his soul cried out when he heard it, like she was some disconnected part of him that needed to find its way back home. Why did she sound like that? He raised his hand to wave for her, to let her know he was there, and he saw it then – the blood, the gashes on his palm and up his wrist. Big, deep, dark gashes, twisting up his fingers and digging deep into his palm, deep enough that he thought he could see bone. Shards of glass jutted out of the wounds. He lifted his other hand, to pull at the glass, but it looked the same and he froze. Glass and bits of metal and brick lodged deep in his arm. His fingers trembled before his eyes, the blood staining the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, seeping upward to where glass penetrated the thin silk of the shirt, thick deep crimson mingling with the soft blue. Dave's shirt. One of his really nice ones. He’d never be able to borrow one again. The blood probably wouldn't come out of that, he figured. 

“Hotch!” Emily shouted, coming up behind him now. He had a dazed look on his face, standing now before the restaurant, upright but teetering dangerously. He stood in a pool of blood. She'd watched it happen, the explosion inside of the restaurant. It was contained to the kitchen but the force of the blast had blown out the front window. Hotch had been standing in front of the police barricade, on the bullhorn trying to get the unsub out of the building, the rest of them were safe behind the cars. When the blast sounded, he tried to duck under one of the cars but at the last moment he realized he couldn’t do anything more than cower beside the front wheel and throw his arms up to protect his face from the blast. Emily touched him on the shoulder, hoping he would turn toward her. When he did, she stifled a small gasp at the sight of his arms, the blood soaked shirt. One of his thumbs hung at a disturbing angle, just slightly wrong, like a painting with an obscured perspective and she shuddered. 

“Hotch?” she asked again, and he inclined his head just slightly, narrowing his eyes to look at her. Like he didn't know her. He tried to take a step but stumbled, his leg hurt, he fell. She reached out to try and catch him but it happened too fast and she didn't know where to put her hands. He tumbled to the ground, throwing his hands out to catch himself and it seemed to break him out of his daze. He cried out in pain and pulled his arms close to him, shaking. Emily knelt beside him, and in the chaos more of the team now made their way over. JJ and Spencer had been beside Emily, and had secured the scene after the blast with the cops, they hadn't seen what happened to Aaron. Derek and Dave weren't even there yet, they'd been across town with a victim's family. This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

“We need an ambulance!” JJ shouted in the direction of the officers milling around in the wreckage. Her voice was raw, desperate, sounded like it had come from someone else. It was the mom voice, and she was demanding obedience. Spencer crouched beside Aaron, careful not to touch him, watching the way he seemed to be curled in on himself, afraid to move now. He'd come out of his daze only to realize how very painful it was to be covered in shrapnel and blood. He was dizzy, faint, and every movement tore at his skin, dug the glass and bits of brick in further. By the time the ambulance arrived, he was on the verge of unconsciousness, the pain and blood loss sucking him into the dark. He struggled to stay focused, to stare at Emily. He could focus on her because she made him feel safe. She’d make sure he was okay because she was scary and terrible and would kill for him, he knew that. He was glad she’d come back...had he told her that? He should, he thought as he stared at her. 

“Can you hear me Hotch?” she asked, and he looked up at her. His eyes had a faraway quality that scared her, but he nodded, just slightly. He could hear her, but the ringing had begun, the familiar painful ringing in his ears that he'd hoped to never experience again. The EMT took great care in moving him as little as possible once they had cut his pants up, seeing the mangled skin beneath. His legs weren’t as bad as his arms, there was a small mercy there. Emily and Spencer stayed beside him as JJ worked with the officers, helping them deal with the onslaught of the press that was showing up now. Vultures, news crews with their cameras and their invasive questions, she tried to keep them away from the ambulance. The last thing she wanted was for Jack to have to see this pop up in some TikTok or YouTube video. She'd seen that becoming more prevalent, Henry had shown her a few very scary things that made her wish she'd never let him use the internet in the first place. 

“JJ?” Spencer asked, approaching her from behind, tapping her on the shoulder while she shouted at a news crew that was trying to wrap its way around to the ambulance, to see what they were calling the victim. She was shouting at them that they didn't know what they were talking about, there were no victims, trying to get them to respect her authority but it wasn't going well. What she wouldn't give to have Derek there right then, no one steamrolled him. It was rare that she was steamrolled, but no one messed with Derek. Not ever. “JJ?” Spencer asked again, and she whipped around to look at him, frustrated. He shrunk back a little. “They're getting ready to leave, Emily's going with him. She wanted the EMT to wait until Dave got here but they said they have to leave right now, a few pieces of glass hit his radial artery just above his wrists and he’s losing a lot of blood.”

“How is he?” she asked, watching them shut the door and begin driving off. She just hoped that he didn't end up on the news. Spencer shook his head and shrugged. 

“Seems okay, aside from the blood loss thing...just in shock. He's going to have a lot of stitches.”

“Like he needed more scars...” JJ muttered, her voice trailing off as she watched the flashing lights disappear into the distance. Spencer shrugged again, his shoulders outlined sharp by the headlights of the police barricade. It wasn’t that he felt indifferent, he was just...out of his element. The blood didn’t worry him, it was what came next. Hotch was dark, very dark, and he knew this was just the tip of the iceberg. It made him feel distant, all he wanted to do was get away from it. He couldn’t do anything to help.

“I guess,” he said softly. “I'm sure he's not thinking about that, though. That's not very Hotch. He's probably just mad that the bomb went off in the first place, before he could go storming in there to drag Billy out by his shirt collar.” 

She regarded him curiously for a moment, wondering how he could be so sweet one minute and so utterly disconnected the next. That was just Spencer though. “You're probably right.”

Headlights, high beams storming down the road, pulling into the parking lot. JJ felt a lump form in her throat – between she and Spencer, it was going to have to be her that told Dave what happened. Dave, who loved Aaron with every ounce of his being, every spark of his Italian fire spent protecting and loving that man. Spencer was a wild card with the bedside manner of a raccoon when it came to delivering news of any kind, she would have to do it. If Hotch got a splinter, Dave wanted an eye for an eye. This was going to be ugly. Derek and Dave jumped out of the SUV as soon as it was in park and ran to meet JJ and Spencer. 

“What the hell happened?” Derek asked, his voice wild with excitement. “The profile was wrong!”

“Actually it wasn't,” Spencer interjected, folding his arms over his chest. JJ rolled her eyes. “We profiled that he'd want suicide by cop, but ultimately suicide was the end game. Us barricading him in there with his explosives worked just as well. One of us may as well have shot him, as far as he was concerned.” 

“Where are Hotch and Emily?” Dave asked, craning his neck to look around. There was a sea of cops and firefighters, the acrid smell of smoke hung in the air. JJ and Spencer glanced at each other, both willing the other to start talking. Derek picked up on the hesitation right away. 

“Come on guys,” he started, approaching the two. “What happened?” JJ sighed. Reid shrunk. 

“Hotch was hurt in the blast, he was in front of the car when it happened. He was on the bullhorn, trying to get Billy to give himself up. He's okay, they're taking him to the hospital to...he's...” suddenly she saw the blood, all of the blood, and she couldn't find the words. Everything in her mind sounded awful, wrong and the look on Dave's face wasn't helping. She imagined what Will might look like, if it were her. 

“Shrapnel. A lot of shrapnel, in his arms and leg. Too much to treat here. Emily went with him, she'll text with the location once they're there.” 

Derek glanced at Dave, then back at JJ and Spencer. “How bad?” he asked, noting how shaken JJ looked. Spencer was harder to read, he kept his tracks covered well. 

“Bad,” JJ whispered, dragging her hand over her face. She scooted closer to Derek while Dave pulled out his phone to try and text Emily, being too impatient to wait for her. JJ looked up at the man beside her, still whispering. “There was so much blood, Derek. They said he's going to be okay, that some of the glass got an artery and that’s why there was so much blood but...it looked...scary.”

Dave was calling Emily, over and over, with no answer. He knew she was probably still in the ambulance, she probably couldn't answer yet, but he kept calling. Couldn’t stop himself, like a compulsion. Voicemail, end call, redial. He was pacing, back and forth, around and around, hardly paying attention to his surroundings when all at once he froze, looking down. His shoe, it was what he saw first, just his shoe and then he noticed the rest - a sticky pool of blood soaked gravel and glass. His stomach lurched like he was on a roller coaster, realizing what he was standing in. If Emily hadn't answered the phone at that exact moment, he would have thrown up, that much was clear. 

“Dave,” Emily began just as soon as she knew he was there. She didn’t wait for him to talk, he didn’t need to. “You need to get here. I'll text you the address. They won't let me do anything or be with him because I'm not his proxy, he's all alone.” 

“I'm on my way,” Dave muttered, ending the call abruptly. He stormed back toward his team, leaving bloody footsteps in his wake and told them to get in the SUV immediately. Derek climbed behind the wheel and they sped away from the scene, toward the hospital. There was only one road in the town, it hadn't been difficult to find, but the lonely stretch of highway getting there had lasted forever. With a sense of urgency, each of them piled out of the SUV and into the brightly lit hospital, the smell of bleach hitting them hard upon entry. There was a young man scrubbing blood off of a chair near the entrance to the emergency room, and JJ instinctively knew where that blood had come from. There was no one else in the waiting area, save for Emily who was now walking toward them like a wraith in the night, all in black against the stark white walls and floor. She followed JJ's eyes and nodded, letting the other woman know she was right, it was exactly what she thought. 

“He, uh, tried to get off of the stretcher when they left him unattended for a minute. He fell, obviously, there was blood everywhere. That's the last of it, thank God.” Emily inclined her head, peering around the group at the admissions desk. “Dave, you should go talk to her. I think they'll take you to him. Or you, Derek...your name is in his file too. I thought I was in there, but I guess he updated his proxy after I left huh?” 

“You mean when you died?” Spencer interjected, his voice a little sharp, a little sour. Emily flinched but nodded. She understood. They'd mostly all moved on, forgiven her, but there were still little things every now and then that just hit wrong. Spencer was clearly in a mood this evening and it hit very...very wrong. She understood. She felt awful. 

“Spence,” JJ said softly, touching his arm. He nodded, pursed his lips.

“Sorry.”

“No, you don't have to...it's okay.” Emily said, offering a sad smile while she watched Dave and Derek slip away toward the admissions desk. After a moment and some questions, she got up from her seat and walked both men back into the patient care area, letting the doors close automatically behind them slowly. The remaining three let out a collective sigh and sat down, trying not to look at the bloody chair being scrubbed. 

In the patient care area, everything was still, quiet. Aaron was one of only a few patients being seen, and he'd been taken back quickly. He was in a large room, laid flat on a bed, and there were three people standing over him, pulling out bits of shrapnel and dropping them into small buckets, then irrigating the wounds. The water bottles sprayed their warm sterile liquid and bloody water gushed out with bits of sand and gravel and tiny shards of glass into the floor. They had bowls but there were so many wounds that the bowls would overflow before anyone could bring a new one. No one looked when Dave and Derek entered, just kept at it. There was deep red blood on the floor, and every few minutes someone came through with rags and sopped it up around the feet of the people over Aaron. It was a sight Dave wished he'd never seen, it came into sharp focus every time he blinked. He turned away, and Derek looked over at him. 

“Hey, if this is too much, I'll stay with him. I get it. You don't have to.”

Dave gulped down another wave of nausea, thinking back to standing in that bloody gravel. “I'm just going to step outside the curtain for a minute.”

“Of course. Take your time, I'm not going anywhere.” Derek had no issues with blood, he’d seen plenty of it in his life. He knew that, even if you didn’t mind it, the blood of the right person could make you sick though. He knew that was where Rossi was, right then. The man was a veteran, he’d seen more than his fair share of blood and gore, friends dying in his arms, and he was allowed his moment to say this was too much. Derek didn’t mind shouldering the responsibility. 

Dave walked. He'd intended to just stop outside the curtain, but he could smell the blood, thought he could even taste it. He couldn't see much, but the glimpse he got was already too much. Too many times, he'd seen Aaron bleed. Too many times he'd been here, standing by his side, staring down the creation of another scar. But this one, this wasn't supposed to happen. No one should have been hurt. They had made a mistake in their profile and now blood was being spilled all over linoleum floors. The blood of a man who had already given too much to this job. So he walked, he walked and he got angrier at how they'd missed something crucial, began to wonder how many other mistakes they'd made over the years that got people hurt. He got mad at having to make that call to Jessica again. Again and again. Mad that Jessica would have to bear this burden, the love of her family so great she never said no. Mad that Jack would miss out again – miss out on playing soccer with his dad, or going on a hike or camping, missing out because they'd made a mistake and his body was on the line. healing was the worst part, because each time more and more was taken from him. Eventually there would be nothing left. By the time he made it back to Aaron's room, he'd worked himself all up. Derek popped out and shook his head. 

“They're not done yet,” he said in a low voice. “They're putting stitches in his arms and hands, still pulling stuff out of his leg. Then they wanna take him back for an MRI because I told them about his ears. It's gonna be a while.” 

Dave didn't know what to say, or what to ask. He supposed there wasn't any answer Derek could offer him anyway. “Thank you Derek. Go back in. I'll let the other three know, call Jessica with the bad news...”

It was a long while. There were hundreds of stitches and bandages to cover them all, by the time he was prepped for his MRI he looked like an actor from an old mummy movie. Derek made his way out to the lobby, to tell the team what he knew while the MRI took place. Dave had come out briefly and talked to them, then left the hospital to be outside when he made his call to Jessica. He hadn't come back inside yet and none of them was prepared to push him. He often needed to blow off steam, he had a visceral reaction to Aaron being hurt – sometimes, they wondered whether he regretted recruiting the younger man to the BAU in the first place. They doubted whether he came upon many opportunities to be blown up or shot as a prosecuting attorney. When he did come back in, he looked unsettled. 

“Strauss is furious, she thinks we made an error and Jessica can't keep Jack beyond tomorrow, she has other obligations. The jet, however, is ready to go when we are.”

“I'll get Jack,” JJ offered quickly, knowing all too well that Dave was already making plans to take the kid. “Henry and Michael will love it. You need to be available for Hotch. Please. I’ll call Will, we’ve got it.” 

Dave nodded, smiled even. For Jack. The kid deserved to be among friends if he couldn’t have his dad. 

The nurse approached and waited for a break in conversation before interrupting. “He's ready for visitors now, if you two would like to come back. He'll need to await the results of the MRI, and stay for observation for a few hours, but he won't be admitted.”

“Okay. Hey, why don't you guys go get something to eat? We'll stay here with Hotch, and with any luck we'll all be flying the hell out of here tonight.” Derek was in full leader mode now, which set everyone, even Dave, at ease. There was something so easy about the way he lead the team, he made you want to follow his orders. “Grab us something to go, please.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Spencer replied, folding his arms over his chest and following Emily and JJ toward the doors. Dave and Derek went with the nurse back to the room they had Aaron in – it was darkened, half light, and he was lying on a bed in his gown and gauze covered by a thin blanket. Dave instinctively asked the nurse if she could bring a couple more blankets to their room. 

“He's always cold,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. Derek smiled. It was funny how you just settled into relationships, knowing things about the other person without them ever having to say a word. These two bickered like an old married couple and treated each other like precious commodities, sometimes all in a matter of minutes. When she brought the blankets back, the two men draped them carefully over their friend and stood beside him, hoping to see him open his eyes soon. He looked pale and drawn, but there was only one small cut down by his chin, he'd managed to take the brunt of it with his arms. It took a few minutes before his eyes fluttered open and he turned his head side to side, taking in the faces above him. 

“Hotch,” Derek said first. “You gave us a scare,man.” Almost instantly, Aaron flinched, tried to reach up to cover his ears with his hands but wasn't able to move his arms. Dave recognized it instantly. 

“Shhhh,” Dave whispered, placing his hand on Aaron's forehead. “Don't try to move.” He kept his voice low, almost inaudible, and Derek realized that he'd been too loud and apologized. The blast did mess up his ears again, he'd guessed right. 

“Sorry,” Derek whispered, and Aaron nodded. 

“Dave...” Aaron started, his voice hoarse and dry and paper thin. “I ruined your shirt. I'm sorry.” Dave chuckled at that, his eyes twinkling just a little. He felt the anger dissipate slowly. 

“You can buy me a new one,” Dave replied and he thought he saw just a small ghost of a smile on Aaron's lips. Derek, at the last moment, realized what Aaron had meant and sighed, shaking his head. These two. Worried about bleeding on a shirt was the most Hotch thing he could think of. 

The rest of the time spent in that room was quiet, even the nurses came through and didn't make much noise. When the doctors and nurses wanted to talk to the two men, they'd pull them into the hallway. Aaron didn't say anything else, he just sat with the pain and stared at the clock, watching it tick away the minutes. Dave wanted to touch him, wanted to hold his hand, but he was afraid of hurting him so he kept to himself, except for nervously adjusting the blankets when Aaron started to look like he was getting uncomfortable or cold. Always cold. He knew how to fix that. It seemed to help, just a little, but both of the standing men noticed that he was avoiding eye contact entirely. They didn't push him. His demeanor had changed over their time, from glad to see them to almost ashamed and dark. 

The jet was gassed up and ready to go, and within a few hours the team had found their way there. They'd settled Aaron into a seat in the back, darkened so he could try to sleep. He was able to walk on his own, but he wasn't able to use his arms or hands at all which was endlessly frustrating to him. The flight was only about an hour, mercifully short, and Derek managed to keep everyone corralled in one area so they didn't disturb their boss who didn't want anything other than a blanket for company. No one bothered him. Not even Dave. 

Back in Quantico, the tension was palpable. JJ left to go prepare her house for Jack, taking Spencer with her because somewhere in the evening he'd started getting fussy and she knew it was only a matter of time before he said something that set someone off. Derek and Emily helped Dave get Aaron into his car and offered to follow them home, but the offer was declined so they opted to do the next best thing – head out for drinks, each playing the other's wing man. It was a recipe for disaster, but it was the only recipe either of them was interested in after the evening they'd had. 

“Take me to my apartment, please.” Aaron's voice was low, deep, too serious. It was the first time he'd spoken since the hospital. He was resting his head against the window, eyes closed. Dave felt ice in his veins, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't seen this coming. The rest of the drive was silent, and when they pulled up to Aaron's place, Dave helped him get into his place and just stood back and watched as Aaron milled around for a moment. 

“Can I make you something to eat, or help you get ready for bed?”

“You can go, it's late. I'll be fine.”

Dave stared, dumbfounded. Aaron stared back, his eyes cold and tired. In a battle of wills, they were evenly matched, but Dave knew when to back down and Aaron never did. So, even though he knew better, Dave nodded and said goodnight to his partner, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek before leaving the apartment behind. Aaron stood, alone in his apartment, a place he hadn't been in weeks. He and Jack practically lived at Dave's these days but something inside of him told him to keep the apartment anyway. It was a crash pad, where he could be completely alone. It took some doing, and some considerable pain, but he managed to get out of his jacket and pants, leaving only a t shirt and underwear. It would have to do, he wasn't sure he could get the shirt over his head, and it didn't matter anyway. He padded softly to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror – both of his arms were covered in thick gauzy bandages from his wrists to his shoulders, and his hands were in separate bandages, one of which was more of a cast for his thumb after one of the pieces of glass severed a tendon. They suggested surgery, but said it could be discussed with his primary doctor once he was home. He wasn't sure he'd do that. He glanced down at his leg, bandaged from the knee to the ankle. If Jack were here, he'd say he looked cool, like a mummy, and he supposed it was true but he knew what was underneath was where the real monster hid. He'd been sedated for most of the time, but he knew, he felt every single stitch now, pulling and tearing and burning. Once he was finished with his reflection, he made his way to his bed and eased himself into the sheets. There would be a mess of emails and paperwork and Strauss to deal with, but he just wanted to sleep. 

Except he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the explosion. He felt the shower of glass, the hot blast, the crumbled bricks embedding themselves into his skin. His lungs choked on the smoke, his eyes stung, his ears were ringing. And then he'd wake up, and he could feel the blood pooling beneath his bandages, the wet feeling beneath him forcing him back to the memories of recovering from Foyet. His ears rang, his head pounded. He held one hand up, saw the blood trickle out between the strips of gauze and just tucked it under himself and tried to go back to sleep. He hoped he'd fall into a deep sleep and not ever wake up. The nightmares plagued him all night, relentlessly. He'd fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion and wake up in a pool of sweat and blood, over and over again until dawn broke through his window. His phone had been vibrating all night, and he figured at least half of the messages were from Dave checking on him even though he knew damn well texting was next to impossible for him right now. He had stitches twisting up and around his fingers. He couldn’t text, he couldn’t do anything. He couldn't eat, his stomach was twisted in knots and he felt sick from the pain in his head. Every noise made him flinch. 

The knocking started around 9am, after an entirely sleepless night. He didn't answer. It happened again almost hourly, and he wasn't sure if it was just Dave, or maybe the entire team at separate intervals but he just stayed in bed. He knew he'd need to at least let Dave in sooner rather than later, his bandages would need changing but he wasn't ready for company. His head was a mess. Feeling the bandages on him, rough against his skin, the smell of the ointments, the feel of the stitches, it was bringing him back to a time he'd rather not relive. And yet here he was. 

In some strange, desperate attempt at sleep, he sat down on the spot – the place of Foyet's attack, long since cleaned but never emptied of the feeling. He eased himself backward until he was lying there, flat on the floor, and for some reason, he slept. He slept long and hard. The nightmares came, all of them, but couldn't wake him. 

Waking to a dark apartment was disorienting, but it didn't take him long to figure out where he was lying. He felt his skin crawl and wondered what had come over him, possessed him to lie there. The knocking started again, softly this time, and he lie still, wishing it would stop. Instead, though, a key turned in the lock and he knew it was Dave. Once inside, Dave flicked the light switch and peered around, catching a glimpse of Aaron on the floor. Panic washed over his face and he rushed to his partner's side, dropping down to his knees. 

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“Dave, I'm fine...I just...” he started, but he didn't know what to say. I couldn't sleep in my bed so I decided to sleep in the spot I was stabbed like some sort of psycho? And it worked? That wasn't going to go over well. “I couldn't get comfortable in bed so I...” Dave just nodded, he'd figured it out. At least as much as he needed to. He'd seen the spot before it was cleaned, he knew exactly where they were. 

“Can I help you up? It's time for your bandages to be changed. I'll leave again afterward...if you want.”

The bandage changing almost killed Aaron. Dave unwrapped him, one hand first, then the arm and for the first time he saw the damage. Slashes with big, black stitches across the fronts of his arms, small ones from the gravel and larger ones from the glass. Some weren't stitched, just bloody but not deep, others felt like they nearly went all the way through his arm. His other arm looked much the same. His hands were pulpy, bloody knuckles and gashes stitched on his palms, up his fingers. His left hand was affixed with a stiff cast-like splint to completely immobilize his thumb, and of course it had to be his left hand. Dave was so gentle, applying all of the ointments, cleaning what needed cleaning, inspecting the stitches to make sure they were holding and then delicately wrapping new bandages around it all. He followed with his leg, which wasn't nearly as bad, mostly surface wounds, his pants had done a lot more for protection than the shirt had. Dave's poor shirt. Once he was cleaned up, Dave sat back and regarded Aaron for a moment, just taking in the sight of him, the incredible sadness in his eyes, the way he sat almost slumped over like someone who was a shell of a person. 

“What can I do?” Dave asked, leaning forward, his voice soft. “How can I help?”

“I just...need to be alone.”

“Okay. If that's what you need. Jack is staying with JJ for a few days, but when she needs me to I'll go get him and he can stay with me. Take all the time you need. I just need you to promise that you'll let me change your bandages every day.”

“Okay,” Aaron sighed. “Thanks Dave.”

“I'm here, Aaron. I don't know what's going on in your head right now, but I'm here if you need me.”

“I know.”

And that was it, the silence fell and Dave once again just pressed a soft kiss to Aaron's cheek, told him he loved him, and left. It was the hardest thing he'd had to do in recent memory, shutting that door when he knew that the man he loved was hurting, but there was no pushing. Aaron would come to him when he needed him, he always had before and he had to trust that this time would be no different. 

Aaron held out for two days, lost in his head. He let Dave come, let him change out his bandages, but at the end of it still asked him to leave. He was softening a little around the edges, making eye contact more by the second day, but Dave could tell he was hardly sleeping and probably wasn't eating. At 3am, on the third day, with shaking, bloody hands, he called Dave. When Dave arrived, he found Aaron sitting on his bed, start white sheets drenchedwith blood, his bandages ravaged. 

“I'm sorry,” he muttered, staring at the blood. Dave sat down on the bed and grabbed Aaron's hand, holding it gently in his, examining the broken stitches. He slipped out of his jacket and pressed the sleeve to the wound, putting pressure on it to help stop the bleeding. Now, Aaron realized, he'd ruined his sheets and two of Dave's nice things. He was on a roll. 

“It's okay, Aaron,” Dave whispered, holding his hand so delicately. “What happened?”

“It hurt.” The other man nodded solemnly. He'd just wanted to see it, of course. 

“I can stitch it up,” Dave offered, looking at Aaron seriously. “I haven't done it since Vietnam but I'm sure it's like riding a bicycle...” 

“You...know how to...” Aaron started, feeling a shiver run up his spine. “I didn't know that.” 

“A little mystery is a good thing. I've got to run out and grab some supplies from the pharmacy, don't move. Please.”

He did what Dave asked, he sat on his bed and held the jacket on his hand and waited. Dave was pleased to see it. A little shocked, but pleased. Aaron watched, fascinated by Dave setting up his medic station on the nightstand, and with the promise that it would probably hurt and it would definitely be ugly, he set to it. It did hurt, very much, but there was nothing ugly about it, Aaron was mesmerized and in awe and, to his astonishment, so utterly in love. Right then, that moment. That Dave could take him, all of his madness, all of his insecurity and fear, and just demonstrate his devotion, without even flinching, Aaron knew he didn't deserve it. Stitch by stitch, he did more than just fix a wound on Aaron's hand, he brought him back, showed him where he belonged. 

“You good?” Dave asked, admiring his handiwork. Not bad for being out of practice by almost 40 years. Aaron nodded, tracing the lines of the wound, feeling the soft fibers of the stitches. It hurt, it hurt so bad, his hand trembled as he looked, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Dave had done something no one had ever done. People had tried – Haley tried every day for years and years, Beth had done her best, even the team – they all tried. And he loved each of them dearly for it. But Dave had done it, and he hadn't even realized it until it was over. That simple act of showing up at 3am and stitching up a gaping, bleeding hole in his hand had meant so much more than just a needle and some thread. 

“Would you stay tonight?” Aaron asked softly. 

“Of course, dummy,” Dave replied, holding open his arms, letting Aaron collapse exhausted and hurting into them. He fell against Dave's chest and melted there in a way he couldn't do anywhere else. With anyone else. Even before things went from friendship to more, he'd been able to find solace only here. “I thought you'd never ask. But...we need to change these sheets. I have my limits, even when it comes to you Hotchner.”


End file.
